


Room to Grow

by chemical_exemption



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Belly Kink, Caretaking, Feeding, Fluff, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Quest, Spoilers, Tight Pants, Weight Gain, implied eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemical_exemption/pseuds/chemical_exemption
Summary: Sam feeds Frodo up and nurses him back to health.





	Room to Grow

The quest had been fulfilled, and the hobbits were finally back home safe in the Shire. While Merry and Pippin automatically felt right at home as they always had, Frodo just couldn’t go back to his ordinary, domestic life. The traumas he experienced due to the quest had changed him. Evidently, getting stabbed, kidnapped and mildly dismembered is definitely not for the faint of heart. Even for someone as courageous as Frodo, it was a heavy burden to bear and continued to cast a shadow over him after their journey had come to an end.

 

This, of course, was completely evident to Sam. While Frodo still kept his usual good-natured temperament, Sam hadn’t failed to notice how weak and thin he had become. The excruciatingly lengthy treks and inadequate rations consisting of almost naught but the elven lembas bread had drastically sharpened Frodo’s already lean figure.

 

The day Sam carried Frodo up Mount Doom with more ease than he had hoped for, he decided he would move in with him as soon as they got home to ensure all would be okay. Frodo, not yet ready to live on his own, showed no hesitation and was more than happy to share a domestic life with his dear Sam. While the rest of the company heavily indulged as soon as they returned to the Shire to make up for skipped meals, Frodo couldn’t get back into the habit of eating with typical hobbit-like gusto.

 

The morning after Sam moved in, he quietly walked into Frodo’s bedroom to draw back the curtains. It was five hours past daybreak but considering his master had been through hellfire and back, he reckoned he should let him sleep a little longer. He padded over to Frodo’s bed where he sat down and watched him, still deep in slumber despite the soft, warm sunlight that now filled the room, and brought an almost healthy glow to his peaceful face. Sam caressed his brow and gently stroked his cheek as he watched his eyelashes flutter open.

 

“Goodmorning Mr. Frodo.” he murmured. A subtle smile crept onto Frodo’s face. He tried to sit himself up using his hands but winced in pain and sank back into the bed as he had forgotten about his maimed finger. Sam sat him up, guiding him with gentle yet strong arms. “Careful now, you’re gonna hurt your poor hand!” The ivory bedsheets fell off his lean frame, revealing his bare chest. He shivered. The stab wound he received on Weathertop had never fully healed and remained permanently chill to the touch.

 

As Sam’s eyes trailed away from the wound, he noticed the severity of the effects of their scarce rations. Frodo’s ribcage was slightly visible, lightly ghosting the surface of his pale skin. As he drew a deep breath, Sam swore he could count each individual rib. His arms were attenuated and his knuckles protruded from his bony hands. The sight worried him immensely. “Mr. Frodo…” he murmured. Frodo said nothing for a while, then looked him in the eyes. “Yes, Sam?” He hesitated before asking. He knew he was concerned.

 

“I hate to say this but, you’re a terrible sight… When’s the last time you had somethin’ to eat?”

 

Sam’s expression grew tense as his master continued to remain silent. Frodo turned his head to the floor as to avoid Sam’s worried gaze. “I reckon it was about… ereyesterday,” he mumbled. Sam brought his hand to his mouth. “Oh dear... I should’ve known something was wrong. Why you’re as thin as a starved coney.” he dismally remarked. “I just haven’t had the same affinity for food, since we returned to the Shire,” Frodo guiltily admitted. Sam pondered, then rested a hand on his master’s shoulder. “You wait here, Mr. Frodo.” With those words, Sam left the room and as Frodo lay in his bed, he quickly fell back to sleep.

 

**…**

 

Frodo was roused by the scent of a rich vegetable stew and the soft thud of a bowl on his bedside table. And of course, there stood Sam. Frodo eyed the bowl hesitantly even though his insides ached from the emptiness, and the stew was the first sufficient meal he had laid his eyes on since Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party. Sam softly kissed the side of his masters head. “You go ahead and eat that, Mr. Frodo.” he encouraged. Frodo reached his injured hand towards the bowl as Sam quietly cursed himself. He had once again forgotten about Frodo’s wounded finger

 

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I’ll get that for you. I’d hate to see you hurt yourself...” And with that began to feed his master, spoonful after spoonful. The stew had definitely been to Frodo’s liking. It was savory and rich.

 

“It’s not right… going around with naught in your belly. But don’t you worry, you’ll see. I’ll fatten you up good and proper.” said Sam, brushing back Frodo’s hair with his fingers. Frodo found himself unable to look him in the eyes. What did he ever do to deserve him? He supped gently from the spoon in Sams steady hand.

 

“You’re doing so well!” Sam half whispered, slightly smiling, stars in his eyes. He joined Frodo in bed, sitting behind him so his head would rest against his chest. Sam repeatedly brought the spoon to Frodo’s lips as the rest of the stew slowly disappeared. When it was completely gone, Sam set down the bowl on the bedside table, letting the spoon clink. Frodo leaned back into him.

 

“I’m so full, Sam.” he softly groaned. His belly had swelled up, jutting out from his lean frame to accommodate for the meal. The sight was incredibly endearing, Sam thought. He smiled secretly to himself, knowing it was the outcome of his efforts. How lucky he was, to have the privilege to feed him up. He rested his hand upon Frodo’s protruding belly as his eyes fluttered back shut for the second time that day.

 

...

 

Sam spent every day since he moved in cooking him hearty homemade meals. He fixed him breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, supper and sometimes even dessert. As the days went by, Sam’s efforts made themselves more and more apparent; his ribs disappeared under new layers of warm flesh, his jawline softened, his arms and legs thickened, but most importantly, he was starting to develop a proud, soft little pot-belly. It wasn’t much, but it certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Sam. His eyes fixed on it as he sat at his desk, finishing up Bilbo’s story. His normally loose trousers were clinging to his thighs and his tummy was poking out past the waistband, suggesting that it was a tad bit snug. Sam felt a glimmer of pride. His master was finally filling out and had a healthy glow to him. His shirt buttons strained a little bit where his tummy rounded out.

 

Frodo stretched out his spine, slightly aware of his labored breath, subconsciously trying to ease the pressure on his belly. Despite having nursed Frodo back to health, he still felt a little guilty. Mr. Frodo had grown out of his clothes and it was all Sam’s fault. “Well, I am the culprit.” he thought. “The least I can do is make sure he’s nice and comfortable.” When Tuesday came and it was time to wash Mr. Frodo’s raiment, Sam secretly let out a few of his trousers. Not so much that he would notice, but just enough for him to feel comfortable. “An extra two inches on each side should be just perfect.” he thought. “He’ll be comfy and his belly can still have a little room to grow.” He wasn’t the best tailor but this would have to suffice for now, although he still had to be careful. One loose thread and his master’s feelings would be hurt… Or so he thought.

 

Frodo noticed the alterations immediately, and he was far from upset. It was a big improvement from the usual strained buttons and snug waistbands. Frodo wasn’t oblivious to his weight gain, in fact, he noticed it pretty early on the day that Aragorn gave him a well-meaning “You look well,” and a patronizing pat on the tummy. While many would be offended by such a comment and dive headfirst into dieting Frodo didn’t mind. He embraced his extra chub with open arms and high honor. After all, it was the physical evidence of the nurturing and comfort Sam had provided him.

 

When the gentle gardener came home that day, he was met with the sight of his master at the door crossing his arms, wearing his newly revamped trousers and a sly grin on his face.

 

“I know what you did,” he taunted, tugging his waistband.

 

“Oh- uh, begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo?” Sam felt his face flush. He knew exactly what he was talking about.

 

“The trousers, Sam. I appreciate it. It was time for an upgrade. After all, I’ve really let myself go” he teased, patting his paunchy hobbit-belly a few times for emphasis. Sam's mouth went dry at the excess jiggling softness surrounding his navel. His head buzzed with tempting thoughts. My word, I’ve gone too far, but he looks so beautiful… he thought. Oh! Right. He nearly forgot he had to reply.

 

“Oh uh, gosh, silly me. My apologies! I’ll stop cooking. I uh- I don't know what I was thinking, feeding you all of that.” he stammered between nervous chuckles.

 

“Believe me, Sam. That is the last thing I want you to do. You’re the best cook in the Shire. I mean, look what you’ve done to me.” Sam couldn’t tear his gaze away from his precious little belly that was just starting to poke out. It was his creation, and it was manifesting itself on his master just perfectly. In a moment of bravery and arousal, he reached out a warm hand to caress the pudge that was settling itself just below his navel.

 

“ Well, I think it’s beautiful.”


End file.
